The Mysterious Motorbike
by PadfootProngsandMoony'sGirl
Summary: What might have happened the night Sirius moved in with the Potters.


James was bored. And ten months out of the year, that was a good thing. Ten months out of the year, his very best ideas, nights, and triumphs were born from a lack of having anything better to do. Memories of this, the adventures had when he was supposed to be practicing, sleeping, or working, were enough to bring tears of sentimentality to a weaker man's eyes.

His life did not currently reside in any of those ten months. It resided in one of the two, and most unfortunately, the _first _of the two, which meant that by now he had exhausted every possible way with which he could amuse himself in times such as these, and consequently was ready to explode. He'd been counting, and there were now only sixteen days of these maddening limitations before he was again released into the wild. He, James Potter, was king of the jungle.

Of course, recently, his beloved jungle had included hours of panicked studying, even longer hours of detention, seventeen humiliations, two Quidditch losses, and four fights between himself and the one single person whose anger he typically tried not to incite.

On all counts, numbers were on the rise.

Mysteriously, they had all slipped his mind. The only thing that _remained_ on his mind, it seemed, was the fantastic storm outside, raging tauntingly against his window. It was past dinnertime, and all of his sources for companionship—that is to say, his mother, father and cat—were otherwise occupied. His parents, with discussions of the Daily Prophet over coffee and whatever else it was that elderly couples did, and his cat with climbing the living room bookshelf. As a number of charms had been placed on said bookshelf to prevent this very thing from happening, such a feat was a lot harder than it first appeared.

Usually, James used these hours to hone his Quidditch skills. As the youngest Captain of a Hogwarts team since the nineteenth century, he worked very hard at maintaining his impeccable status. The heartbreaking losses in his fifth year had all but tied him to his broom this summer. Gryffindor had won the cup in his third year, and James determined that he, with more chances at victory than any other student in a decade of decades, would have his team win it all.

That is, if the weather permitted. Which is quite clearly did not. The howling overhead was terrifying, sounding more like an army of dementors than a product of nature. His mother, all a flutter, had redone all the protective charms on the house, and added in a few for good measure. The man of the house was, after all, Head Auror at the ministry, and if any dementors _should _decide to track him down, now would certainly be the time to do it. With the bleak skies, sobbing rain, and bone-chilling winds, they'd hardly notice a difference. It was enough even for the soft-hearted Mrs. Potter and the lackadaisical Mr. Potter to dole out the discipline, and James was under house arrest.

Most unjustly, he felt. Why, at that very moment, just glancing at the window, he could count only four bolts of lightning ripping the sky. Only four! One of the only things Lily Evans had ever directly said to him was that a person was more likely to be electrocuted by a toaster than by lighting. Whatever a toaster was.

But if a toaster was that obscure, then going out in a thunderstorm really couldn't be dangerous at all.

Wait…five bolts. But five wasn't much either. When one thought of how far and wide those bolts could be seen, the chances of one of them striking in his yard were like a billion to three.

Except, that fifth streak of lightning was behaving rather strangely. It wasn't just flickering on and off, docilely in its place, like the others. Whenever it went out, it reappeared running in a completely different direction. And it ran straight, purposeful. Nothing at all like the veiny looking ones, like the reds in his father's eyes when he hadn't slept.

James molded himself to the window, until his glasses dug into his skin and he could feel rather than see each drop as it hit the pane. It was hard to see anything through the river of condensation blurring his view, but by squinting and tilting his head, he managed. It wasn't a bolt of lightning at all, was it? It was coming from some tiny object, black, heading towards the house. A bird, he might have thought, except it really didn't move much like a bird.

A particularly murderous clap of thunder shook the house. In a jolt of inspiration, the answer came to him.

"Mum!" He shouted, pushing himself from the wall and sprinting out of his bed room, across the hall, down the stairs, all the while making as much noise as he could. "Dad! Someone's here, I think—"

He broke off, reaching the end of the staircase and hurling himself flat against the front door.

His parents stood in the kitchen, staring at him with identical expressions of concern and amusment. The newspaper had slid to the floor, forgotten. "What's wrong?" his father asked him, moving forward.

"Nothing!" James, half laughing, fumbled with the latch until finally, with little help from his over-exited fingers, it and the door swung open, letting in a torrent of rain. The rug and hardwood were instantly soaked, but Ninny the house elf was the only one who noticed. The wizards were staring, mesmerized, as the gleaming Harley Davidson made its smooth landing meters from their porch.

"Padfoot!" James didn't bother with the steps, instead leaping clear off the deck to tackle his best friend.

Sirius fell against his motorcycle, chuckling. "Hey, Prongs."

"You've finished it!" James cried, pulling away so he could examine every nook and cranny that made up the massive machine. "That's way faster than you thought, mate! Brilliant!"

"Yeah, well," Sirius said nonchalantly. He paused as his eyes roved the vehicle in a way very similar to the way he eyed a feminine form.

That is, in a way that was anything but nonchalant.

"I worked on it all the time because there was nothing to do. When I was done, I still had nothing to do, so I came here instead."

"Well," James said, adopting an air of civility as he, too, struggled not to gawk. "I might as well tell you, you've come to the wrong place. There's nowhere more boring."

Sirius snorted, but the smile was forced and his eyes dropped his feet.

James noticed this, but did not ask. "How'd you survive all this?" was the question he chose instead, spreading his arms to indicate that the sky was falling.

Sirius held up his wand. "There's a spell that repels electricity. I looked it up before I left. I'll show it to you sometime."

They attempted to exchange a look, which was difficult because soaking strands of hair and drops of water fell into both their eyes.

"Sirius! Would you like to come inside? You and James can put your bike in the greenhouse," Mrs. Potter called from the doorway, the picture of housewifeliness next to her smirking husband. There was nothing in either of their smiles to indicate displeasure at this unannounced visit, or even concern about the object it had been made on. This last part was especially impressive, because given that it roared, sputtered, flew, and growled, it very well could have been a distorted hippogriff.

Sirius grinned, and yelled back over James' shoulder, "Thanks, Mrs. Potter!"

That decided, Mr. Potter closed the door, and Sirius took the handlebars of his bike to steer. They half jogged around the side of the house; although both of them had no problem with rain, the thunder made conversation difficult. It wasn't until a few minutes later, when they had crossed the backyard and wheeled Sirius's bike into the greenhouse—which wasn't much of a greenhouse at all, actually, since no plants were grown there—that Sirius felt inclined to speak.

"Your mother," he said, shaking the water from his hair like his canine alter ego demanded, "is nothing like mine."

"Thank Merlin."

The building was small, about the size of James's bedroom, and made almost entirely of glass. Strengthening spells had made it indestructible, but as hailstone the size of snitches began to batter the ceiling, James found himself listening for a crack. Despite this concern, James leaned heavily against one of these fragile walls while Sirius put the kickstand out from his motorcycle. For the first time, James noticed that Sirius's school trunk had been strapped to the bumper. He understood what this meant well enough, and only asked, "Are your things soaked?"

Sirius shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "Dunno. I'll just dry them with magic, if they are."

James nodded.

Another clap of thunder fell from the sky. It was a long one, particularly booming. Like there was a game of Quidditch going on in heaven, and Slytherin and Gryffindor were beaters.

"Look, I don't have to stay here if your folks can't have me. I get it. I can find somewhere else to stay. I can—"

"You're here as long as you want, Padfoot."

James regarded him with grave features, and Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. Rare occasions for them both.

"Thanks," Sirius said finally.

"Sure," James returned. "What happened to make you do it?"

Sirius's expression darkened inexplicably, his chest swelling. His motorcycle creaked slightly, as if his very form had become denser with the weight of what he was remembering. "My brother became a Death Eater," he said, void of all emotion.

James furrowed his brow. Unfortunately, it was the age that surprised him, not that any flesh and blood of Padfoot's could join with something so detestable. That, he could believe all too easily. "But he's fifteen."

Sirius shrugged, amending. "That's a loose term. They're letting him do it so they can have information on the inside. He's just supposed to tell them what the Dumbledore's doing, stuff like that. It's stupid. But he's been branded with the dark mark and everything." His face twisted suddenly, becoming ugly with revulsion. "My whole family was supposed to come over when I left. The whole bloody clan. To _celebrate._"

James perked up. "Really? You mean you didn't stay to catch up with your lovely cousins? You haven't missed, ah, Bellabitch and Narcissist, I think their names are?"

Sirius snorted. "Oh, yeah. Great girls. _Bella _and _Cissy _send you their regards."

"Brilliant. I keep asking my parents to invite them for tea."

The two of them turned to leave, and when they opened the door any drying off they might have accomplished was immediately overrun by what felt like a flood. As they struggled back to the main house, Sirius muttered, "Death Eater. Reggie's a _Death Eater_."

James clapped him on the back, but decided not to respond. He didn't know what it felt to lose a sibling. The closest thing he'd ever had to a brother was standing right next to him.


End file.
